


don't you know the world keeps spinning

by shibutanis



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Masturbation, my first foray into writing fs rpf and i write abt nathan chen jacking off WHOOPS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibutanis/pseuds/shibutanis
Summary: When it comes to traveling, jet lag is usually what Nathan would say he hates the most.But struggling to stay awake isn't the problem after taking a non-stop flight to NYC from LAX; it's quite the opposite.





	don't you know the world keeps spinning

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to preface this by apologizing to nathan wei chen
> 
> also i couldn't sleep whilst in new york so i'm writing about nathan not being able to sleep whilst in new york oop

The sheets are way too cool against his skin: that's problem number one.

A warm bed always helps him sleep, but unfortunately, the Marriott-Marquis' blankets aren't like his fleecy comforters at home, so he's tossing back and forth on the plush bed, trying to at least get comfortable to be able to drift off to sleep.

It was already midnight and even if he is to knock out this instant, seven hours of sleep is the max amount he will get for the night, three less than his usual allotment.

_If you would just adjust the thermostat it'd be warm enough for you to fall asleep_ , a voice in his head helpfully supplies, but is squashed by a much heavier thought:  _too lazy to get out of bed_.

Problem number two: he’d tried to stuff a pillow over his face to block out the flashing lights from the screens in Times Square, but to no avail; the heavy curtains don't stop neon lights from dimly pulsating through the window. And he enjoys breathing more than he will admit.

So it’s just him in a long-sleeved sleep shirt, and a pair of flannels, in a bed that feels too foreign and too impersonal for his tastes.

When it comes to traveling, jet lag is usually what Nathan would say he hates the most.

But struggling to stay awake isn't the problem after taking a non-stop flight to NYC from LAX; it's quite the opposite.

“You need to sleep,” he mutters out loud, maybe hoping that a vocal command would help his stupid brain cooperate with what his body needed.

Says the brain, _Nah_. 

“You’re being a nuisance.”

_Up yours, Chen._

Nathan blows out a frustrated breath, and kicks his legs out, extending his arms until he spread-eagles on the bed.

_All for a stupid photoshoot_. He had to get up at ass-o-clock in the morning to head to Long Beach Airport, just to find out that his flight was delayed and relocated to LAX. So to kill time from 4:30 in the morning to 7, he paid a visit to Long Beach. It wasn’t enough time to go for a surf, but he spent a couple of hours watching the sunrise and letting the ocean lap at his bare feet, jeans rolled up to the middle of his calves as he shivered in the early-morning California air.

LAX was alright. Business class on American Airlines meant he boarded early to keep his head down and go unnoticed, but by his stroke of luck his flight was delayed by an hour, and he literally spent the whole time just staring out the window watching attendants flit in and out of airplanes, unloading luggage and pushing carts around, to avoid seeing or interacting with anyone while he impatiently waited for the designated plane to arrive. 

He was only able to nibble at the fruit (a strawberry and some grapes) the airline served as part of its complimentary snack, a cheese plate Nathan wasn’t even able to eat due to his regime. So he downed enough water to make him get up twice to pee— _head down, move fast, don’t let people see you_ — to quell the hunger building inside of him.

He got out of JFK to take an Uber all the way to the Marriott-Marquis, where he met up with the Shibus and Adam and Mirai, who were there for their joint interviews and photoshoot. 

Which will happen in about eight hours, which means that Nathan should start getting some shut-eye before he wakes up tomorrow with bags under his eyes that will rival Vincent’s when he stayed up too late looking at memes or writing poetry or whatever he does late at night.

He breathes in slowly through his nose, holds it— and exhales hard. Does it a couple of times until he’s light-headed and ready to scream into a pillow.

And then, problem number 3.

_You know what always helps when you’re all worked up like this?_ His brain muses.

“Don’t even—”

_You could—_

“Stop—”

_I don’t know, just—_

“I know what you’re gonna say—”

_Think about someone and jack off—_

“God fucking dammit,” Nathan mutters to himself, and launches out of bed, straining to reach his luggage to unzip the biggest compartment. After some fumbling around in the dark, his hand hits a small bottle carefully wrapped around some of his boxer briefs, and he plucks it out of the bundle of soft fabric.

His back hits the bed with a soft _oof_ , and he shakily flicks open the cap of the innocuous-looking bottle— the warm smell of coconut wafts into the cool air— as he simultaneously pulls down the waistband of his flannel pants. 

It doesn’t take long for him to get hard; he’s a teenager, after all. His free hand nervously skitters over the jut of his own hipbone and after a moment’s hesitation, he drizzles a bit of lube on his palm, warming it up a bit before he grasps himself. 

Nathan bites his bottom lip to avoid making any noise; he vaguely remembers doing this very thing when he still shared a room with one of his brothers: ears kept alert for any signs of waking, breathing controlled so it didn’t seem like he was up to anything suspicious. Maybe it was the fear of getting caught that discouraged him from ever trying to touch himself, even when he was alone, even when there was no risk of anyone finding out.

His hips twitch up of their own accord, and he grits his teeth as a pulse of ebbing heat pools in the lower part of his abdomen. 

“Mm—” He cuts off his groan, and goes still and silent, dreading— what _is_ he dreading? There’s no one to hear him, and the walls are most certainly thick enough to muffle his sounds so his neighbors can’t hear.

Still, Nathan wills himself to remain quiet, even when he roughly brushes his thumb over the head of his cock, even when he thrusts up into his own tight grip after slicking it up with a few more drops of lube before closing the bottle and casting it to the side. He’s not thinking of anything or anyone in particular, but images come to him: big, manly hands, the plushness of a pair of full lips (“perfect for cocksucking” he’d heard a girl in a porn video coo about her own mouth before swallowing down a dick that he could only dream of, much less experience), thighs that he wants wrapped around his face while he’s eating them out, the bounce of an ass when someone’s getting it rough.

He doesn’t _visibly_ blush easily but he feels his cheeks heat up, and whether it was because of the arousal or the embarrassment of his actions he really doesn’t know. He rucks up his shirt with his hand, lightly skimming callused finger pads over sensitive skin, shivering with the sensation of it.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he focuses on the pleasure that he’s allowing himself to indulge in, the one that makes his thighs tense and toes curl. He deliriously thinks of his skates, of him sliding on a thin blade, balancing between a state of falling and flying.

That’s just what this is: finding a place between letting go and keeping himself from falling apart.

It’s been a while since he’d done this, so when he senses that building, almost overwhelming feeling, he stills for a moment, hearing his own heavy breaths in the silent room, save for the low hum of the air conditioner.

Savoring it, if it can be put that way. 

He thinks back to a conversation he had with the guys on the team when they hung out after practice for Nationals.

“Have you guys ever heard of _edging_?” Adam had asked them, eyes glittering with something akin to mischief and knowingness.

And thus came the enlightening talk of sexual gratification that Nathan didn’t know he needed but received anyway. Turns out guys can get off in other ways that don’t solely involve their dicks.

For now, he’s focused on just milking the pleasure for as long as possible, lazily fucking up into his hand before he undulates some more to keep a steady rhythm. 

He starts swearing lowly when he can feel his muscles tense and his balls grow taut, and throws his head back as he comes, arching his back as his cum shoots on his abdomen and torso, and he ejaculates hard enough to have just a bit splatter on the bottom of his chin.

He lies there, breathing harshly, feeling his warm jizz cool rapidly on his overheated skin, and he slides his hand down his front, smearing it on his pants, and wipes his chin. As if by magic his eyelids start drooping, and his post-orgasmic state lets him finally succumb to blissful sleep.

-∆-

He's startled out of his sleepy stupor the next morning when he hears a bang on his hotel door. He clumsily yanks his shirt down where it had ridden up, pulls up his pants and stumbles to the door, pausing to glance down at himself. No visible cum stains, but he’s hiding behind the door regardless.

“My child!” Adam exclaims when he finally opens the door, and he’s way too chipper at 8 in the morning. “You overslept, everyone is going to be finished with breakfast in fifteen minutes, so if you’re not ready by then, we’ll be leaving without you, and you’ll be taking a taxi uptown, _by yourself_.”

He squints at Adam. “If I was gonna be late, why didn’t you remind me earlier?”

“I’m your dad, Nathan, not your mom.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Adam waves away his statement with a dismissive hand gesture. “Time’s a-ticking, my son.” He cocks his head. “Also why does it smell like lube and panicked desperation here?"

“Okay, bye Adam!" And with that Nathan quickly closes the door before he can inquire any further, and leans his back against it, heart thudding as he hears Adam’s muffled footsteps fade away.

He winces as he feels the tackiness of the lube and his dried cum pull against his skin, and slips into the bathroom to wash up and get ready for the day.

He scrubs as hard as he can at his skin in the shower, until he’s pink from all the rubbing, and compartmentalizes what happened last night to file it away and never think about it ever again.

The next time Nathan flies to anywhere ahead of his current time zone, he’s going to bring sleeping pills.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a slut for comments and kudos 
> 
> lmk if i should write more nathan or write him with someone else (':


End file.
